Decisive and Insurmountable
by VictorianSongbird1857
Summary: Harry Potter Universe, 1798: A duel, a curse, and a visit from the Minister of Magic. Each moment followed the next unremittingly, and William Pitt the Younger had so little time left. Influenced by William Hague's biography of William Pitt the Younger, upon which the film "Amazing Grace" (2006) was partially based. Homages to Sherlock Holmes. Warning: May contain a Cumberbatch.


DECISIVE AND INSURMOUNTABLE (Harry Potter Universe, 1798)

[Author's Note: Influenced by the William Hague's biography of William Pitt the Younger, upon which the film "Amazing Grace" (2006) was partially based. Also influenced by "Pandemonium" (1998). Homages to A.C. Doyle's "Sherlock Holmes". Warning: May contain a Cumberbatch.]

8:58 pm. The clock kept its well-appointed place and time in the office at 10 Downing Street, on the new marble mantelpiece and above the low, precise flames in the grate. At the desk opposite, the Prime Minister tried not to break into a cold sweat.

On his desk, refolded neatly because discipline demanded it, was the dueling challenge from George Tierney. The challenge had been accepted a short time before. Since duels required preparation and advice, another letter must be written.

'Addington,

If convenient come at once.

-"Ahem." The pen hesitated for a fraction of a moment, then continued. Servants could wait.

If inconvenient come anyway.

-"a-HEM."

The Prime Minister looked straight at the portrait on a far corner of the wall. Its be-wigged, amphibian subject swelled with its own importance, spilling wig powder onto the Axminster carpet. The Prime Minister never had figured out how the portrait managed to do that.

"Yes, Francis?"

"The Minister for Magic will be arriving in thirty seconds, Sir: As per your request."

If I live through tomorrow, thought the Prime Minister, I shall tax wig powder out of existence. Aloud he said, "I will see her in one minute. Thank you." He turned back to the letter.

Could be dangerous.

-Pitt.'

9:00pm. He had just closed the window sash after the messenger owl when Artemisia Lufkin spun in from the fireplace, leaving the tiniest cinder ash burn on the Axminster. Pitt made a mental note to have the carpet turned ninety degrees. Again. Only now it was spinning of its own accord—

A cushion of air caught him as he fell forward. Then he was in his chair behind the desk, suddenly and painfully alert. Lufkin was sitting in a chair opposite, looking for all the world as if he had never fainted at all. She handed him a glass of port. "Drink this quickly."

"Wait. What about Silas Tomken Cumberba—"

"Safe."

"Is he still at Ottery St.—"

"No. We've had him moved. We have someone named Porlock looking after him. We had to give them new names, of course. But no one will suspect two poets named Coleridge and Wordsworth. Drink."

He complied. "Thank you." He poured himself a second glass. "And for this."

"Not at all. Dilys Derwent is stocking a fresh supply in your cellar as we speak."

"There isn't much time. Tierney."

"No. Of course you must fight him. If the Muggles don't listen to you, Napoleon will have control of the seas. I do not envy you your position, Mr. Pitt, any more than I envy mine. You, however, are The Chosen One. "

"Not through any choice of my own." He took another undisciplined gulp of the port. It helped.

"No? Are you certain of that, Billy?"

He met her gaze, steel on steel. "I am not The Chosen One. There have been Chosen before and there will be again. You know this."

Lufkin shrugged. "Napoleon does not see it that way. Mademoiselle Lenormand, the cartomancer, has convinced him otherwise. Tierney's been sent to kill you."

"I know. I did not say my burden was less for the knowledge."

"How will you fight him?" Lufkin asked.

"Without hurting him? The walnut dueling pistols with dragon heartstring cores."

"Excellent." She stood up, extending her hand. "Good luck, Mr. Pitt."

He rose from the chair and took her hand briefly. "Again, thank you."

She glanced at the port. Her eyes seemed unusually bright. "Mr. Pitt, you know that one day the elixir will not be enough. We cannot stop the effects of a Cruciatus Curse."

"I've known since I was fourteen years old that it would eventually kill me. But it will not kill me today. Nor will it kill me tomorrow."

"I hope not, Mr. Pitt." Then Artemisia Lufkin was gone in a flame of green sparks, with another burn on the Axminster. Yet in Mr. Pitt's hand was a small, exquisite bottle of Felix Felicis– Liquid Luck. William Pitt smiled.

9:10pm. Every minute followed each other in such precision, in so little time left. "I really must have that carpet turned," Pitt thought, as he sat down to draft a final will before Addington arrived.


End file.
